


and a righteous man will hold

by Knightblazer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Mindfuck, Mindwiping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightblazer/pseuds/Knightblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The road to victory is never an easy one. (AU after 7.01, inspired by Dissidia Final Fantasy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	and a righteous man will hold

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired greatly by the concept of Dissidia (which I should return to...) - although I really blame the Dissidia OST (specifically the [Cosmos](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gfhbVS_EWBs) and [Chaos](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wk-Kdsqm8l8) tracks) for this random thing. Uh anyway, this is pretty much AU from 7.01 because of how unlikely something like this will happen. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

The first time, it had been the three of them together: him, Sammy and Dad.

There were many others too, countless other people who had been brought here to fight in this battle that made little sense to him. They had been told it was a battle between two gods, one of peace and one of war. Harmony and discord. Cosmos and Chaos.

It didn’t make sense to Dean at all, but if fighting was the only way to go back to the home he belonged then that was what he would do—to make sure that Sammy would be safe and that his dad always had somebody to trust his back with. They were fighting a war that wasn’t theirs and fighting with and against people Dean had a feeling they should know but could not remember, but as long as the three of them were together then that was all that mattered.

That was all that he needed.

  


“I think—” Dean starts as he looks around, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to recall a memory that should be there but wasn’t; it was like grasping at things that slipped between his fingers like the near-immaterial brush of a butterfly’s wings. “—there should have been somebody with us, shouldn’t it?”

John Winchester turns around to look at his son, eyes narrowing as he stares at his son in a way that seems as if he’s attempting to figure out the meaning of Dean’s words. “Who do you think should be with us, son?”

The younger Winchester furrows his eyebrows even more as he tries to remember the memories, pushing against the feeling of _wrongness_ that churns endlessly in his gut ever since he found himself brought to fight in this nameless war of the gods. “I—I don’t know. But there should’ve been somebody.” It’s frustrating, grappling with this sensation that refuses to leave him no matter how much he tries to ignore it. Just _what_ exactly is missing?

John looks at his son for a moment longer before the expression on his face softens in a way that almost seems like sympathy. “You’re worn out, son.” There’s a pause after that as he looks around, ignoring the chaotic, broken landscape that surrounded them both; both Winchesters had already learned a long time ago how this world broke every law of physics that they had been aware of. “It would be a good idea to rest; we’ve been running around for ages.”

Dean lowers his head, ashamed to be such a burden when that had been the last thing he wanted to be. “Sorry, dad.”

“It’s no problem, Dean,” the elder man says as he starts to rummage around their pack for a tent to pitch up for the night. “We’re all equally tired of this fight.”

“Do you think we’ll manage to win?” he finds himself blurting out suddenly, a purely innocent question because even he’s already lost count of how many days and weeks this war has dragged on.

John pauses entirely then, hard eyes staring at the ground in an expression that Dean couldn’t make out at all as his father replies. “I don’t know, son. I really don’t.”

  


“Why the hell would Dad be with _that_ side?”

That’s the same question Dean has been asking himself ever since he found out from that one battle (his Dad and fucking _Azazel_ , what the fuck), but all the same he couldn’t find an answer to the question. He raises his head to look at Sam, staring at the reflection of his weary self through his brother’s questioning eyes as he answers quietly. “I really don’t know, Sammy.”

Not at all pleased by the response, Sam pushes himself up from the ground and picks up his duffel bag, turning around and already starting to walk. “I’m going to find him and ask why.”

“Sammy—” Dean quickly moves as well, following behind his younger brother as he reaches out and attempts to stop the other by grabbing his shoulder. “Sam, don’t be an idiot and march there alone! You’ll be killed in a heartbeat!” And more than anything, he doesn’t want his brother to die like this. Dean doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle it, not in a situation like this. This was a _war_ they were in now and all they had was each other in this world separate from the one they knew, and Dean doesn’t want to lose the only thing from home he has here.

Sam does stop, thankfully—but he doesn’t turn to face Dean, and Dean can hear the hurt and accusation that laces his brother’s voice. “We’re going to lose, anyway. Everyday more of us are killed, and it’s only a matter of time before we are too.”

Dean clenches his jaw at that, feeling the sting of Sam’s words even though the reality of that eventuality has long since come to him. But even still Dean still fights, because he believes in a tomorrow for them, and with each tomorrow that comes that is still hope that they will make it through the struggle. “We’ll make it, Sam. I promise that we will.”

They had to.

  


There’s always something sick with each of the other fighters ( _fighters_ , because they can and they never will be comrades because he’s not like them), but _Alastair’s_ always the one that creeps him out most. That guy’s a classic nutjob, and if he had the choice Dean would rather stay as far away from him as possible. But as it turns out, fate always loves to work against him in the worst ways.

“You should’ve heard her screams, Dean,” the elder man is whispering now, his words a delighted croon. Dean knows Alastair well enough by now that the sick fuck’s probably thinking about the last person he carved up to death. _Why_ he’s stuck with this asshole is something Dean really wants to ask the head honcho, but each and every time he tries to find an audience Zachariah (an equally sick asshole) only says that the big boss is busy and ‘has no time for pawns like you’.

Yeah, okay, he knows he just one of the many soldiers that line this stupid chessboard of the gods and their stupid friggin’ war, but even then couldn’t he just stuck with somebody less miserable? Dean doesn’t even know how much more of Alastair’s sickening fantasies he can listen to without wanting to puke.

Dean stares resolutely at the setting sun, clenching his jaw and tries to tune out Alastair’s continued stories down memory lane, but when the man’s voice goes higher and louder Dean snarls and turns around, highly pissed at the other’s sick stories. “Can you just stop already?”

The only response he gets for that is a twisted little smile from Alastair, and Dean tries to ignore the strange gleam that lights in the other’s eyes as the other replies. “Don’t worry, Dean-o. You’ll soon remember the screams as well as I do.”

  


He remembers.

Oh god, he remembers, and Dean wonders how he could have ever been like that.

The only comfort he has now is that Alastair is dead and now he has the freedom to be alone. It’s a lone comfort he can take knowledge him as he wanders around the fragments that make up this tattered world, each piece a memory from somebody, somewhere. The memories are trickling back to him, recollections and fragments of his past, of him and Sammy and his father who he now knows is dead and gone. He doesn’t remember where and when he died, but the knowledge is there, clinging to his mind like dry ice on skin.

It _hurts_ , but there’s nothing that Dean can do about it.

Now that there’s nobody to force him Dean lets himself drift away from this meaningless battle that has already gone on for who-knows-how long, staying out of it as much as he possibly can and only waiting for the day when all this useless fighting comes to an end. He doesn’t want to fight—he’s ever wanted to fight. All he wants is to go back home where he and Sammy can just be together again and not constantly forced to be at each other throats because of the _sides_ they’re stuck with.

Zachariah is displeased with his lack of action and so is Azazel, but it wasn’t as if they could do anything about it—he’s only one of countless other fighters, and him not acting won’t make a difference. The other side is still falling, and it’ll only be a matter of time before all of them will fall only to be resurrected and their memories erased, and then the next cycle of fighting would begin anew.

He’s only seen it happen once and it already sickens him, and Dean doesn’t want to think how many more times he would see it again. He doesn’t want to.

  


“Dean!”

He feels his blood freeze up when he hears that voice—a voice he hadn’t heard in two cycles of this endless war but now resounds in his ears—and slowly he makes himself look to where the voice comes from, making himself look at the tired and battered figure of his younger brother.

The name is out from his lips before he can register it. “Sammy.”

Sam’s giant arms are wrapped around him at the next moment, and Dean can’t help but choke on a sob as his brother sobs out his name on his shoulder. He returns the gesture, trying not to remember the deathly cold body he had to hold the last two times as it vanishes from his eyes with the end of each cycle. Sammy’s still here and still _alive_ and—and Dean doesn’t know just how much more of this he can really take. How many more times does he have to see Sam die before the stupid gods are done with their stupid war?

“Dean, I—” Sam’s voice is in a stutter now, pain wrenched in his tone as his younger brother tries to speak. “—I know you’re not fighting because of me.”

Dean manages a shrug. “Those sons of bitches can’t do anything about that.”

Sam smiles, but Dean can see that it’s forced. He opens his mouth to say something again, but his brother starts before he can and Dean finds himself floored with what Sam says next. “Come with me, Dean.”

“…what?” Him, a soldier on the side of Chaos, going to Cosmos? Impossible. He would be killed before that could happen.

“Dean, please,” Sam starts, and Dean’s never been able to say no when that tone of desperation goes into his baby brother’s voice. “I—I’ve talked to him, to Cosmos. He’ll help you, Dean. You don’t need to worry.”

It’s hard to take in all of this so suddenly, and Dean is stunned—stunned that Sam talked to _Cosmos_ , stunned that Cosmos said that he’ll help _him_. He’s just a pawn, a nameless soldier and a guy who’s already killed too many innocent people to count; why should he receive help from _Cosmos_? It’s—it’s all too much, and Dean isn’t sure what to do. But—this is Sam, and if there’s anybody he can trust, its Sammy. Sammy, who’s trying to help him even though they’re supposed to be enemies on opposite sides.

So it’s with that knowledge that Dean lets himself nod, allowing himself to put his faith in his brother. “Alright, Sammy. Lead the way.”

  


Bobby’s not bad company at all, Dean thinks, as he watches the older man prepare the fire. They’ve ended up together by chance and decided to stick together, and so far the arrangement’s turning out great; Bobby’s not too much of a fighter, but he’s good with direction and advice and with Dean being the muscle of the two, they’ve been able to keep themselves alive which is saying something, considering the nature of this place.

Still, being alive is not the same as living, and Dean can’t help but chew on his lower lip as he recalls going face to face with Sam earlier in the day—Sam who is with Chaos and going around with that chick Ruby. There’s something about her that rubs Dean off the wrong way, no matter how much she says she’s not one fighting in the war too. It’s still a fact that Sam’s with Chaos and from what he’s heard and seen from the sick fucks who run the show on that side, he can’t help but worry about his younger brother.

“Still thinkin’ about earlier?” Bobby’s voice breaks through the silence, forcing Dean out of his thoughts as he blinks to see the elder waving a roasted fish in his face. Dean gratefully accepts the stick, biting through scales and into soft meat and chewing, glad that the bones had been taken out already. Bobby looks at Dean as he eats, taking a bite from his own stick too before speaking. “This place sure got a sense of irony, putting you two brothers against each other.”

Dean can only snort. “Tell me about it,” he manages.

“At least you two remember each other,” the elder man points back out, and Dean winces a bit at the pointed comment that Bobby makes. Yeah, he knows; almost everybody brought here hardly remembered their memories, only coming back with time. Some of them died even before they could recall anything beyond their name, and Dean isn’t sure if that’s a blessing or a curse; he can still remember Madison’s hopeful dreams before she died brutally at an ambush the asshole Zachariah had planted.

Still, he can’t help but be sceptical about everything. “Dunno if it can be called a good thing though. I mean, Sam’s my brother, but that’s about as much as I can remember.”

“It’s better than nothing, I reckon,” Bobby replies, taking another bite of his fish and looks up to the night sky above them. “At least you got something to hold onto in this fight.”

And yeah—Dean has to concede his point; Bobby’s absolutely right.

  


“I knew you could do it, Sam.”

Dean scowls and throws his arm to the side, attempting to protect the woman behind him. “Lisa, stay back.”

Azazel smiles an unkind smile, and Dean absolutely loathes the light that gleams in those sick yellow eyes of his. “Always the gentleman, Dean, aren’t you? …but of course, you were all always about the others, even when you were with us.”

The words confuse Dean and the confusion bleeds through—Dean knows it because he can see it in the way Azazel’s twisted smile widens even more and watch the delight that crosses his features. “Oooh, yes, you probably don’t remember at all. Such a sad fate, never remembering, don’t you think?”

Dean notices the way Sam’s jaw clenches at those words, but Dean doesn’t have the leisure to ask his brother (his brother who is with freaking _Chaos_ ) just what Azazel exactly means by that. For now his focus is on getting out of this alive—or at least making sure that Lisa gets out of this alive. There’s no reason for her to get caught up in whatever this is. “Are you here for any real reason, asshole?”

“Subtle as always, Dean.” The yellow eyes gleam even more as Azazel rocks on his heels, turning his head over to look at Sam. “So, Sam, what do you think we should do with your brother and his woman? Hmm?”

Sam looks at Dean and then looks back at Azazel, eyes narrowing. “There’s no point to this, Azazel.”

The older man only shakes his head. “As a matter of fact, Sam, I think there’s very much a point to this.” Saying that Azazel raises a hand, and suddenly Dean finds himself on his knees vomiting out blood as Lisa’s terrified screams ring in his ears. “So, what do you think?”

Sam’s voice is louder now even as the world grows darker. “You promised to leave him alone, Azazel!”

“What can I say?” Azazel replies all-too-casually and there’s a pause; suddenly Lisa’s screaming is gone and Dean registers the sound of a lifeless body falling next to him. “I don’t make promises, Sammy. I make _deals_.”

He hears Sam’s outraged roar and the sound of bodies falling onto the ground, and that’s the last thing he registers before his whole world grows dark.

  


Dean curses under his breath as he stumbles, trying to keep himself upright even though his body is about to keel at any second and Dean wonders just how much more he has to walk to be able to get to Sanctuary. He’s pretty sure they hadn’t went out too far, but—there had been an ambush and there had been too much, and the last thing Dean had seen before he fled was Henricksen’s shout for him to flee before the hellhounds tore him apart.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s ran away (and that stings so fucking much because he _ran away_ from battle, goddammit) but he’s certain that he’s going to die before he gets back to Sanctuary. He curses again, forcing himself to keep on moving even though his body is protesting; he can’t stop, he won’t let himself stop. So many people already lost their lives in order to let him flee and escape, and Dean doesn’t want to disappoint the lives that’s been placed on him.

His vision his blurry now, darkness edging at the corners but Dean bites down on his lips to inflict enough pain and keep himself up, flinching at the sting as he stumbles and falls—

—right into the most perfect warmth he’s found himself falling into, even if he has to squeeze his eyes shut at the light that almost blinds him. Dean feels himself being lifted up and steadied properly, a two fingers pressing against his forehead and suddenly Dean feels well and right again. Confused and taking his chances, Dean lets himself crack open one eye and now finds himself staring at the brightest, bluest pairs of eyes he’s ever seen.

Even without thinking, he knows who he’s seeing.

“Cosmos,” he starts, eyes now going wide.

The figure is much too bright for him to make out besides the eyes, but Dean can see some foreign emotion flickering across those eyes as Cosmos nods, now lowering his (her? Dean wasn’t sure) hand.

“Um,” Dean tries again, because this is pretty much the head honcho he’s talking to—sure he isn’t happy about this whole war business and the fact that he’s been dragged away from home, but he’s heard about how sorry Cosmos is too and figures he couldn’t be too hard on the person… god who just saved him. “Thanks.”

Cosmos only nods again and something in those blue eyes seem happier now, so Dean figures he must have done something right.

  


Cosmos is—a really strange… god, Dean decides, as he watches the glowing figure walk around the ones who still remain; there weren’t many of them now, maybe about twenty or so. The other side has much more, and as much as Dean tries to believe otherwise he’s only now making himself guess at the day they’re all killed by Chaos’s hands.

Thinking about Chaos only makes him remember that Sam is there, for some reason he can’t even fathom (or maybe doesn’t want to think about, because he has flashes of Sam with blood on his lips and nothing but anger written on his face), so Dean quickly pushes that thought away and continues watching the human-like figure now moving towards him. Dean’s eyes widen in surprise when the god not only moves towards him but also stops at him, and Dean wonders if he’s dreaming now when the god _sits_ before him.

“Uh,” Dean starts, because what else is there to say when there’s a god suddenly sitting before him?

The head does a strange little tilt as bright blue eyes (the bluest eyes he’s ever seen, and fuck why are they so familiar?) look at him quietly. There’s a long, drawn-out silence between them, and Dean wonders if Cosmos—the god—ever talks when the he hears the voice and instantly he feels himself freezing up at the sheer nostalgia it brings him.

 _“Do not give up on your brother, Dean,”_ he says (he, because no female would ever have a voice that low), and Dean wonders just how much this guy—god—knows now, to say something that Dean hasn’t ever even talked about to anybody else. _“You must have faith.”_

Dean can only gulp and nod, trying to ignore how almost everyone else is now staring at him in awe—well maybe except Chuck, the little guy who’s about the jumpiest person he’s ever seen but somehow is the guy who ends up sticking in Sanctuary most of the time and staying with Cosmos.

The blue eyes gleam with some emotion that Dean can’t place and then Cosmos stands up to walk away, leaving Dean to wonder just what the hell just happened. It doesn’t help that Chuck comes later to clap him on the shoulder and says to him in an oddly sombre voice: “He’s right, you know.”

  


He’s the only person now left standing between Cosmos and Chaos’s victory in the fight, and Dean forces himself to stand steady even though it’s his brother who is now walking towards them, jaw set and eyes looking not at him but to the god that sits behind him.

Dean can’t say that he hates Cosmos, not when the god treats him kindly and assigns him to be his personal guard so that he doesn’t need to be in the fighting and is faced with the reality of seeing Sam, one of the top warriors of Chaos. But it always pisses him off when Cosmos just sits there and doesn’t do anything even when defeat knocks at the doorstep.

“Cosmos,” he starts, readying himself to give his life up if necessary, but to his surprise Cosmos stands up and moves, walking past Dean despite his warnings and stops before Sam, who only continues to glare at the god.

There’s a long pause before Sam finally speaks. “Is it true?”

Dean blinks at the strange, abrupt question, blinking again when Cosmos nods in response and now what the hell is going on? He starts to move, but Cosmos raises an arm in a gesture for him to stop and Dean has no choice but to obey. He grits his teeth and watches Sam staring at Cosmos at the longest time before he bows his head, speaking words Dean never expects to hear in a time like this. “We’re sorry.”

 _Sorry for what?_ Dean wonders as he sees Cosmos shaking his head in response.

 _“It’s not your fault, Sam. It never was.”_

  


He’s been hearing rumours about it for the longest time ever since the fight started and Dean has always refused to believe it, but now the truth’s lain bare before his eyes and Dean can’t help but feel himself shattering into pieces as he sees Sam standing before Sarah, her blood dripping from the dagger that’s in his brother’s hand—a hand that’s also stained with blood from so many other of their comrades who Sam’s raised a blade at behind their backs.

“S—Sam,” he chokes out, unable to breathe because there’s a blade through his ribs—courtesy of Gordon Walker—and he’s already starting to feel the world dissolving around him. The ice-cold grip of death is already spreading through his skin, and Dean drops to the ground when Gordon pulls his blade out of him with a satisfied huff. He barely registers the impact of himself hitting the ground, only keeping his focus on Sam who looms over him and looks down with eyes that sting with guilt and pain.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam says, his voice growing softer and softer as the world slowly starts to disappear before his eyes. “You’ll understand once you wake up again.”

Dean doesn’t even have a chance to ask why before everything fades to black.

  


He’s the last one standing now—the very last in this long fight of the gods—but maybe this was how things were supposed to end. Everyone else has died and faded away, leaving him alone to confront Chaos and put an end to this pointless battle. In all the last cycles he would have been afraid at this moment, but now Dean knows and all he can feel is pain and sorrow and regret and how much everyone has suffered due to this.

He steps over the fading corpses of Azazel and Zachariah, mourning the sacrifices that everyone had put in order to make this happen as Dean climbs up the steps that lead to Chaos’s throne, knowing the true identity of the figure who sits on that lonely throne and watches everything in that ever silent-way of his. With each step he takes the figure stirs more, and Dean finds himself staring at the bluest eyes he’s ever seen as he stands before the rumpled figure sitting before him.

“Cas,” he starts, and he sees the sad smile that crosses the other’s face.

“Not quite,” the angel mutters softly in response, and Dean doesn’t know what to say. Green meets blue as Castiel raises his head now, the sad smile remaining on his face before his eyes flicker to the blade that’s in Dean’s hand. “You know what to do to end this.”

“I wish it didn’t come to this,” Dean tries to say, not knowing what else to say because what could he say? That he was sorry? That he didn’t want this to happen? But it had happened and it had already happened _thirteen fucking times_ , and he knew Cas was ending this because he finally had the chance to and didn’t want everybody to suffer anymore. Not on the callous cruelty of a beast who fucked with everybody for the sheer _pleasure_ of it; Leviathan’s getting tired of it and that’s the only reason why Cas is able to wrestle back control now, letting it all end before the suffering could go on even more.

Cas, the stupid idiot, only shakes his head and lowers it in a way that is far too accepting. “It’s never been your fault, Dean. It’s always been mine.”

Dean can feel his hand shaking, but he steadies it along with the blade as he raises it, knowing that he couldn’t drag this any longer than it already did.

“I love you,” is the last thing he allows himself to say before he brings the sword down.

  


Purgatory is sealed up again and the Leviathan is gone once and for all, but Dean can’t even feel the satisfaction of the victory they’ve all suffered so much to obtain.

As the rest of the world moves on from the war they never knew happened he sits outside at Bobby’s scrap yard and watches the stars twinkle in the sky, breaking open a bottle of beer and trying to drink away the memories of thirteen lifetimes.

He doesn’t know where angels go after they die, but he hopes that Cas is at least in a better place.


End file.
